


Rules of the Game

by KristenRoth



Category: Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-05 22:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12803940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristenRoth/pseuds/KristenRoth
Summary: A different meeting for Clarice and Hannibal. Set during Red Dragon. AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'd like to thank you all who replied to my stories. I'm glad you enjoy it!

He approached the house without caution. It was his house. Everything in it belonged to him.  
Everyone in it belonged to him. His van was parked discreetly out of sight. And now he  
walked down the path, he owned the trees, the air. He owned the world and no one was   
going to take it away from him.

He walked up the stairs. Adrenalin fed his veins. He would finally come face-to-face with his  
mentor, his idol. Weaker beings might have been surprised at the good doctor's overtures.  
A weaker person would have been slightly unnerved that Dr. Lecter had broken out of the  
asylum just to meet him. But he was not. The RED DRAGON feared no one. He would meet   
Dr. Lecter. And he would consume him. Then the red dragon would have Dr. Lecter's knowledge  
inside him as well.

He opened the door to the house. Bach was playing. Dinner was set for two. He closed the  
door behind him and pulled out his knife. He moved to the center of the room, all the while  
listening for a sign of where Dr. Lecter was hiding. A great noise arose and he found himself  
staring into the barrel of several guns.

"FBI FREEZE!!" a voice not as strong as his boomed and he turned, staring at an older man  
with graying hair.

"I AM THE GREAT RED DRAGON," he informed the intruder as he advanced on the mortal.  
The noises following were loud and successive. He felt stinging in his chest and back, but kept  
advancing. A flash of fire from the left and he went down as he saw a dark figure clad in   
trenchcoat, jeans and a tee-shirt.

"I AM T-t-he . . ."

~~~~

From the side, Will Graham watched as the great red dragon, slayer or the LEEDS and JACOBIs,  
sputtered before dying. The smoking gun in his hand dropped to the ground. Two, he had killed two of them now. Two murderers of the innocent set back to hell where they belonged. The third, cooling in a federal safehouse.

"Get Krendler on the phone. I want Lecter back in his cell ASAP," Jack Crawford pulled a younger  
agent aside to tell him that.

Jack Crawford couldn't believe it had actually worked. They had broken to the media the story of  
Lecter's escape. Then, they had placed an ad in the Tattler giving the Tooth Fairy a location   
where he could meet Dr. Lecter. The FBI had staked out the location while holding Lecter at   
another safe house.

"Will . . . it's over," Jack told his young protege as he patted him on the shoulder. Will looked at  
the spot where Jack was touching him.

"Never again," Will spoke the two words as if they were his mantra and Crawford released him  
from his grip.

"You have my word on it," Jack told him but Will didn't hear him. He was too busy running, running  
away from the house, away from his second murder.

~~~~~

Paul Krendler shook his head as he hung up the phone. Everyone else had gotten to go along  
with Crawford to get the Tooth Fairy. Him? He was stuck babysitting an overgrown mental patient.  
He turned from the phone back to Lecter who had remained, throughout the evening, muzzled,  
hand-cuffed and thoroughly emersed in the history of America from an Indian perspective. Sick,  
Twisted Fuck.

"OKay boys, let's take him home," Krendler announced to the other two officers who had gotten  
babysitting duty along with him.

"I'll get the car," FBI Agent Clint Pearsall offered and the other two glared at him as though he   
had won the lottery and refused to share. He scampered out quickly as Krendler approached  
Dr. Lecter.

"On your feet," Krendler ordered and Hannibal Lecter, murderer of nine, rose his maroon eyes to meet Krendler's.

He certainly was a decidedly rude fellow, Dr. Lecter decided. Not only was he rude, but also  
very egotistical and very stupid. Ten minutes after Jack Crawford's exit, he had taken off Dr. Lecter's  
manacles as well as his straight-jacket. Paul Krendler assumed he could handle Hannibal Lecter  
so long as he was in handcuffs. What he failed to understand was that hand-cuffs, unlike straight-jackets  
have keys.

"Of course, gentlemen," Dr. Lecter replied smoothly as he did what the odious man asked. He  
placed the book to the side as he took note of the second officer watching out the window. As  
Paul Krendler turned away to get the straight-jacket, Dr. Lecter allowed the cuffs to fall off his  
wrists. As graceful as a dancer, he moved, snapping them on Paul Krendler's wrist which he  
attached to a file cabnet.

"Fuck!" Paul Krendler's yell caused the second cop to turn, but before he could reach for the gun, Lecter had shot him with the cross-bow hanging on the wall. Dr. Lecter calmly reloaded the crossbow with another arrow and turned to Krendler.

"You are unspeakably rude, Paul," Dr. Lecter informed him as he removed the mask from his face. By this time, Paul Krendler was actively whimpering as he searched for his keys.

"Oh shit, oh shit," Paul muttered to himself as he searched. He didn't notice Dr. Lecter remove the knife from the dead body on the floor.

"Did you know, Mr. Krendler, that the native Americans had a custom of skinning their kills," Dr. Lecter informed Paul as he smiled showing his perfect white teeth.

 

~~~~~~

It was three am before Clarice Starling was able to be well on her way back to Virginia. For the thousandth time she questioned why she had taken the job at the Baltimore Psychiatric wing of all places. She tried to tell herself that they paid the best or that they were the most qualified. She allowed herself to concede it could also be the morbid fascination she had with the idea that a serial killer had once worked there.

Clarice was in her senior year at UVA and she knew she was going to apply to Quantico next year. Behavioral Science fascinated her, especially cases involving serial killers. She had followed, with a sense of perversion the trial of Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter. She had gone over transcripts of the trial at least a dozen times. The idea that Will Graham caught him because of a picture of Wound Man fascinated her. Likewise, the method to the madness of the "Tooth Fairy had caught her eye-especially since the involvement of Graham and Lecter.

She had gone so far as to try her hand at profiling the psychopath, but every time she tried, her focus shifted to the victims and off of the killer. She had speculated where Hannibal Lecter would go now that he had escaped. For the moment, however, her mind was on a Shakespeare test which was why she was listening to Titus as read by Anthony Hopkins. Although, she didn't have the faintest clue who the man was, she found she liked listening to him speak.

As Clarice pulled up to an intersection, she couldn't help but notice the black sedan off to the side, its hood raised. It looked FBI issue and the man standing beside it had the authority one would assume an FBI agent would have. But still, she couldn't be too careful so as the man came over she pulled out the handgun she kept for safety reasons. He pulled out a billfold and placed the FBI shield against the window pane. Clarice opted to roll down the window.

"Could you use some help, Agent?" she asked, West Virgian accent slightly evident even though she tried to hide it.

"I have to hightail it back to Virginia by 3pm but my car seems to have stalled on me," Dr. Lecter explained, cringing at the slight twang in her voice.

"I can get you there by noon if we hurry," Clarice offered sizing the man up. He looked her height with a wirey build. He had blond hair, blue eyes and didn't appear to be a threat, but you could never be too careful. As insurance, she slipped the gun into her wasteband and popped the lock.

"I'm greatly appreciative Ms. . . ." Dr. Lecter began as he got into her small red Pinto.

"Starling. Clarice Starling, how do you do." she introduced herself as he used his right hand to buckle his seatbelt.

"Agent Shepherd," Dr. Lecter introduced himself. He noticed the young woman flinch just barely from the mention. She recovered quickly but not before he stored the information away for later use.

"Do you have a first name, Agent?" Clarice asked as she turned her Pinto back onto the highway and started driving.

"Hunter. Hunter Shepherd," Clarice graced him with a smile, wondering if the FBI agent had anything to do with Hannibal Lecter's escape.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack Crawford approached the secret service safe house with something akin to terror. He watched as the coroner zipped shut the black bag containing Clint Pearsall's mutilated corpse. Crawford walked into the safe house and was forced to clutch the desk for support. The body of the second FBI agent hung loosely from the wall, supported by arrows shot through his outstretched hands and feet. The body was hung in the manner of an upside-down cross.

"His badge is gone chief," a young agent said and Crawford nodded even though he wasn't really listening.

"Krendler?" Crawford barely got out and a medical examiner pointed to the floor behind a downed table.

Crawford walked to the other side of the table and had to close his eyes, the site was so disgusting. Krendler had been peeled open like a frog for dissection. Each of his limbs had been pinned and labeled. Each of his organs had been pinned and labeled. The skin on his limbs had also been peeled back and all of the major veins and arteries had been labeled as well. Lastly, his scalp had been removed.

"H-How did he die?" Crawford asked ignoring the flash of the detective's camera bulbs.

"Loss of blood. He went into shock," the medical examiner said and Crawford stared at her stunned.  
"You mean he was still alive when he . . ." Crawford couldn't finish the statement, but didn't need to. The medical examiner nodded the affirmative answer.

That got Crawford. He ran out of the house to the nearest tree and promptly regurgitated his lunch, dinner and anything else he had eaten all day. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve before staggering over to his car and leaning on it for support. Graham. He needed Graham, but he had no clue where he was. The last he had seen of his protege, Graham was running into the night.

~~~~~~

At that moment, Will Graham found himself in a bar in Baltimore drowning his sorrows. he drank the scotch with shaking hands, almost spilling it when he placed it on the bar. Two. He had killed two people without blinking an eye. He had murdered the second with a feeling close to jubilation. That was what scared him. He felt no remorse, no regret. His mind didn't suffer the way it did with the first.

Of course not, Will. It gets easier with every kill. That voice-his voice. It should be gone now. He had saved lives, the voice should be silent.

I'm not going anywhere Will. You and I, we're alike. We are just alike. Graham ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Hey, Willy, what's the good word? What's it like to have Lecter free?" Freddy Lounds buzzed in his ear like a bee and he had the overwhelming urge to flick him away.

Instead, Graham chose to ignore the bee buzzing. He finished his drink, paid for it and walked out of the bar toward the street to catch a cab. As he did, he knew he was being followed. Lounds never was good at covert activity.

"Come on Graham, give me the scoop. If you don't, I'll find out some other way. You know I will." Lounds did that on purpose and Graham knew it. His mind flashed on the pictures of himself in the Tattler and Graham stopped so suddenly that Lounds almost ran him over.

His death would be so deserving. People everywhere would thank you. He was tempted. He was so very tempted to get rid of the man here and now. After all, no one was watching.

"What's it like to know he might go after your wife?" That did it for Graham who turned faster than Lounds could react and had him pinned into a corner between the wall and a dark car.

"You want to know what its like? I'll show you. I'll show you so you'll never forget." Graham promised in a voice that wasn't his. He began to squeeze Lounds' neck slowly.

"PLease," Lounds tried to speak but the word came out in a squeak. graham was crushing his vocal cords as well as his wind pipe.

As Graham felt Lounds lose consciousness, he loosened his hold and the tabloid reporter slumped to the ground, unconscious. Graham stared from the sight to his hands which were white from the exertion. He could hear him, laughing. Lecter was laughing at him. He shook his head in an effort to get the monster out of his head before turning and walking away.

"Graham? Will Graham." He stopped at the edge of the parking lot when he heard his name called.

"Yes," he asked slowly turning around to find a young rookie FBI agent jogging up to him.

"Crawford needs to see you. It's about Lecter." the young agent explained and Graham could feel every muscle in his body contract.

"What about him?" Graham asked his heart pounding in his chest so loud he wondered if the rookie could hear it.

"Lecter's escaped." the young agent told him and Graham could hear his body rebelling against the call, but he knew he had to answer.

"Let's go," he managed to choke out, choosing to ignore the faint noise in his head that sounded vagely like laughter.

~~~~~~~~

As Clarice drove towards Virginia, she risked a few scarce glances at her companion. His stillnes and calm struck her immediately and she knew that they should unnerve her, but she found herself completely at ease in his presence. She also found herself unable to listen to the rest of the Titus audiotape. She opted instead to pop the tape out, catching a snippet of the news report: "Dr. Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter has claimed three more lives" before deciding to spare her companion the criticism she knew would be coming.

"Do not feel as though you shouldn't listen to the news simply because I'm with you," Dr. Lecter advised calmly and Clarice almost jumped at the fact that he had finally spoken.

"I wasn't sure you'd be interested in listening to people trash the FBI repeatedly for the next 9 hours. That is what they do." Clarice explained ignoring her own desire to listen to the report so she could hear about the victims and assumptions about where Lecter would be hiding.

"I will not hold it against you if you have a morbid curiosity about Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter," Dr. Lecter informed her, allowing his moniker to roll off his tongue. He had hit the nail on the head where she was concerned and he knew it.

"Speaking of cars, shouldn't you let the Bureau know that one of their cars has died on Route 87?" Clarice asked to change the subject and Dr. Lecter tsked at the blatant attempt to avoid discussing herself.

"Oh Clarice, how droll. Is that the best segue you could come up with?" Dr. Lecter asked partly teasing her and partly serious about her lack of etiquette.

"That's the best you're going to get from me at 4 in the morning with nothing stronger in me than a cup of coffee," Clarice countered making it a point to look her companion in the eyes as she spoke.

"Touche, little Starling. So we'll change the subject for now," Dr. Lecter decided reminding himself that she might be a little less bold if she knew who he was.

"Did you want to stop to call the bureau?" Clarice asked and Dr. Lecter explored the possibility that she was eager to get rid of him. After evaluating the possibility, he dismissed it.

"I was in the process of telling them where they could pick up their car when the radio lost power," Dr. Lecter lied easily, having already considered the possibility that she might ask him the question.

"Looks like you've thought of everything, Agent," Clarice told him as she shifted a bit uncomfortably in her seat, having no desire to call the man by his given name.

"I always do," Dr. Lecter mused, a slight smile on his face. He watched her raise a skeptical brow before opting not to challenge him. He saw then her devotion to respecting authority.

"They want the best," Clarice said softly, her mind wandering to the application sitting on her desk. As she pondered whether to send it, she got the distinct impression she wasn't alone, but shook it off. If one considered the truth, she wasn't alone.

"Hmmm, the F . . . B . . . I," Dr. Lecter drew out the letters seeing then her desire to be one of them, among their greatness. She didn't realize they would destroy her.

"Are you on the Tooth Fairy case?" Clarice asked a bit too suddenly for her taste allowing Dr. Lecter to identify her area of interest with her precious Bureau.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Dr. Lecter informed Clarice with a smile that sent shivers down her spine, but not from fear.

"What do you think happened to him . . ." she started to ask, but was stopped by Dr. Lecter shaking his head at her mistake.

"Nothing 'happened' to him little Starling. If you make the mistake of believing it did, you've given up science for behaviorism. Some people, Clarice, are . . . . 'pure sociopaths'" Dr. Lecter risked mocking Chilton's assessment of him as he pondered the things he would do to Chilton now that he was free.

"Do you think Hannibal Lecter is a pure sociopath?" Clarice asked breaking through his silence.


	3. Chapter 3

As the silence permeated the air between Clarice and her companion, she began to grow increasingly  
uncomfortable. She got the distict impression he was watching her every movement for something  
even though he appeared to be staring straight ahead. She was searching for the most proper way  
to break the silence when he suddenly turned to her.

"What do you think, wise little Starling? Hmm? Please, thrill me with your acumen," Dr. Lecter asked,  
curious as to what her response would be.

"Do you always answer a question with a question? It's an incredibly annoying habit. You should  
stop it," Clarice informed him with a sideways glance. She caught the flash of impatience and almost  
homicidal rage that pierced his blue eyes before his expression became calm again.

"You're so ambitious aren't you? You with your good bag and your cheap shoes. You know what you look like to me? A rube. A hustling rube with a little taste," Dr. Lecter spoke calmly as he cut her down. She changed almost immediately, knuckles clenching the steering wheel, jaw set in a straight line. She took a breath before glancing over at him again.

"You see a lot. Maybe if you pointed that high-powered perception of yours at the Tooth Fairy and Lecter, they'd both be in custody instead of running around slaughtering innocent . . ." Clarice trailed off at the end, knowing she was more than likely saying far too much. Dr. Lecter watched as a shudder passed through her. She interested him, Dr. Lecter admitted that. Likewise, he knew that he intrigued her. The question was whether it was his Shepherd persona or Lecter himself who was the focal point.

"Are you interested in a game of sorts? A sort of Quid Pro Quo? I tell you things, you tell me things,"  
Dr. Lecter offered and Clarice opted to take it, feeling all the while like Eve in the Garden of Eden.  
She wondered if that made him Adam, God or the snake.

"Alright," she accepted, and Dr. Lecter considered the options ahead of him.

"What is your worst memory of childhood?" he asked and could feel the pain well up inside her. It  
was glorious and almost overflowing.

"The death of my father," Clarice told him in barely a whisper.

"Tell me about it and don't lie," Dr. Lecter intructed looking out of the window as he did. He was   
accustomed to tasting others' pain, but he did not realize how much she had within her.

"He was a night watchman. One night he surprised two robbers coming out of the back of a drug   
store. They shot him." Clarice told him. The story was so strong that it forced Dr. Lecter to close  
his eyes several times, her pain too great even for him.

"Was he killed outright?" Dr. Lecter asked, his outward calm denying the inner turmoil.

"My father was a strong man. He lasted more than a month. My mother died when I was very young and my father was my whole world. When he left, I had nothing. I was ten years old." Clarice told him, her rage coming to the surface only as a dorsel fin.

"You're very honest Clarice. More so than most people," Dr. Lecter responded to her honesty as he turned to face her.

"Quid Pro Quo," Clarice asked softly, glancing over at her companion as a sign that it was his turn.

"Clarice, if one does what God does enough times, one will become as God is," Dr. Lecter explained,  
making Clarice wonder if he was talking about the Tooth Fairy or Lecter.

"So, if they kill enough times, they will become as powerful as God is?" Clarice asked, her skepticism  
showing as Dr. Lecter reflected on what a quick study she was.

"God always stays ahead, Clarice. Watch the papers and you'll see. No matter how many the mortals  
kill, they will never catch up to his total," Dr. Lecter explained leaving Clarice with more questions  
than answers which, she suspected, was the idea.

"If we can never match him, what is the point of trying?" she asked observing the tip of his pink  
tongue appearing.

"After your father's murder, you were orphaned. What happened then?" Dr. Lecter asked and Clarice  
averted her eyes from him. "I don't imagine the answer is on those second-rate shoes, Clarice."

"I went to live with my mother's cousin in Montana. They had a ranch." Clarice answered as Dr.   
Lecter pondered this latest development.

"Was it a cattle ranch?"

"Sheep and horses," Clarice said, the hitch in her voice evident as she spoke. Dr. Lecter took  
special note of it.

"How long did you live there?"

"Two months."

"Why so briefly?"

"I ran away."

"Why Clarice. Did the rancher sodomoze you?" Dr. Lecter asked slowly to force the conversation's pace to still.

"No, he was a decent man." Clarice told him and Dr. Lecter knew she was telling him the truth as  
she saw it.

"How far did you get Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked changing the subject back to her.

"As far as I'm going to get until I stop for some coffee," Clarice informed him as she spotted the   
sign for a small rest area.

<><><><><><><><>

For Will Graham, the walk from the car up to the safe house was a slow one. He knew they were all looking at him, looking to him to bring Lecter back. They didn't understand. They didn't know what it would cost him to let the sick motherfucker back inside his head. They would never know and he hated them for it.

"Will. Over here." Jack Crawford's voice called to him from the doorway of the safe house and he walked up to his former teacher.

"You promised. You gave me your word," Will told him, a statement made not out of anger but out of exhaustion.

"I know and I'm sorry but you're the only one who can . . ." Jack Crawford trailed off as Will walked into the room. Crawford motioned everyone else out while he stood by the door frame.

Will sat down in the chair previously occupied by one Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter. He ran his fingers  
over the arm rests, absorbing their feel. He blinked once and Crawford vanished. He blinked again  
and time moved backards; back past his entrance and Crawford's discovery. He blinked and the   
three rookie agents were still alive. Time slowed to a stop and then played.

"I'm reading -- a third-rate novel which is more entertaining than my keepers. They ignore me, too  
intent on discussing who gets to do what to notice me casually slip my key out of my mouth. I   
rise when the odious Krendler tells me to. All the while I envision what I'm going to do to him.

I am free now. I subdue the weak Krendler easily and kill the other one without a thought. I use  
the dead man's knife and make a first cut. He feels what he thinks is the worst pain imaginable.  
He doesn't know what pain is. Before the night is through, he will. But first, I have unfinshed business  
to take care of. Pearsall is back and Krendler is conscious enough to scream. I decide to rectify this  
and easily slice through his voicebox.

Calmly, and always in control, I walk to the door and stand beside it. I am loathe to use the same method twice, finding it tedious. When he enters, I opt to slice open his femoral artery. He bleeds out as I resume my work on Krendler. Knowing I have an hour before they realize I am missing, I take my time with him. I take my time because I can."

"Will? Will?" Jack Crawford shook him harder then he meant to, but fear had gripped him with a passion. Will turned to him, in his own time returning to himself.

"It's changed. Everything's changed somehow," Will mused with a faroff look in his eyes.

"They found the car Will. It was in full operating condition, but he left it. Lecter abandoned the   
car." Crawford told Graham who was running his fingers across the blood-stained third-rate  
novel.

"He's changed them Jack," Will repeated as Crawford felt the fear well up inside him.

"Changed what Will?"

"The rules of the game. Lecter changed the rules of the game."


	4. Chapter 4

As the silence permeated the air between Clarice and her companion, she began to grow increasingly  
uncomfortable. She got the distict impression he was watching her every movement for something  
even though he appeared to be staring straight ahead. She was searching for the most proper way  
to break the silence when he suddenly turned to her.

"What do you think, wise little Starling? Hmm? Please, thrill me with your acumen," Dr. Lecter asked,  
curious as to what her response would be.

"Do you always answer a question with a question? It's an incredibly annoying habit. You should  
stop it," Clarice informed him with a sideways glance. She caught the flash of impatience and almost  
homicidal rage that pierced his blue eyes before his expression became calm again.

"You're so ambitious aren't you? You with your good bag and your cheap shoes. You know what you look like to me? A rube. A hustling rube with a little taste," Dr. Lecter spoke calmly as he cut her down. She changed almost immediately, knuckles clenching the steering wheel, jaw set in a straight line. She took a breath before glancing over at him again.

"You see a lot. Maybe if you pointed that high-powered perception of yours at the Tooth Fairy and Lecter, they'd both be in custody instead of running around slaughtering innocent . . ." Clarice trailed off at the end, knowing she was more than likely saying far too much. Dr. Lecter watched as a shudder passed through her. She interested him, Dr. Lecter admitted that. Likewise, he knew that he intrigued her. The question was whether it was his Shepherd persona or Lecter himself who was the focal point.

"Are you interested in a game of sorts? A sort of Quid Pro Quo? I tell you things, you tell me things,"  
Dr. Lecter offered and Clarice opted to take it, feeling all the while like Eve in the Garden of Eden.  
She wondered if that made him Adam, God or the snake.

"Alright," she accepted, and Dr. Lecter considered the options ahead of him.

"What is your worst memory of childhood?" he asked and could feel the pain well up inside her. It  
was glorious and almost overflowing.

"The death of my father," Clarice told him in barely a whisper.

"Tell me about it and don't lie," Dr. Lecter intructed looking out of the window as he did. He was   
accustomed to tasting others' pain, but he did not realize how much she had within her.

"He was a night watchman. One night he surprised two robbers coming out of the back of a drug   
store. They shot him." Clarice told him. The story was so strong that it forced Dr. Lecter to close  
his eyes several times, her pain too great even for him.

"Was he killed outright?" Dr. Lecter asked, his outward calm denying the inner turmoil.

"My father was a strong man. He lasted more than a month. My mother died when I was very young and my father was my whole world. When he left, I had nothing. I was ten years old." Clarice told him, her rage coming to the surface only as a dorsel fin.

"You're very honest Clarice. More so than most people," Dr. Lecter responded to her honesty as he turned to face her.

"Quid Pro Quo," Clarice asked softly, glancing over at her companion as a sign that it was his turn.

"Clarice, if one does what God does enough times, one will become as God is," Dr. Lecter explained,  
making Clarice wonder if he was talking about the Tooth Fairy or Lecter.

"So, if they kill enough times, they will become as powerful as God is?" Clarice asked, her skepticism  
showing as Dr. Lecter reflected on what a quick study she was.

"God always stays ahead, Clarice. Watch the papers and you'll see. No matter how many the mortals  
kill, they will never catch up to his total," Dr. Lecter explained leaving Clarice with more questions  
than answers which, she suspected, was the idea.

"If we can never match him, what is the point of trying?" she asked observing the tip of his pink  
tongue appearing.

"After your father's murder, you were orphaned. What happened then?" Dr. Lecter asked and Clarice  
averted her eyes from him. "I don't imagine the answer is on those second-rate shoes, Clarice."

"I went to live with my mother's cousin in Montana. They had a ranch." Clarice answered as Dr.   
Lecter pondered this latest development.

"Was it a cattle ranch?"

"Sheep and horses," Clarice said, the hitch in her voice evident as she spoke. Dr. Lecter took  
special note of it.

"How long did you live there?"

"Two months."

"Why so briefly?"

"I ran away."

"Why Clarice. Did the rancher sodomoze you?" Dr. Lecter asked slowly to force the conversation's pace to still.

"No, he was a decent man." Clarice told him and Dr. Lecter knew she was telling him the truth as  
she saw it.

"How far did you get Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked changing the subject back to her.

"As far as I'm going to get until I stop for some coffee," Clarice informed him as she spotted the   
sign for a small rest area.

<><><><><><><><>

For Will Graham, the walk from the car up to the safe house was a slow one. He knew they were all looking at him, looking to him to bring Lecter back. They didn't understand. They didn't know what it would cost him to let the sick motherfucker back inside his head. They would never know and he hated them for it.

"Will. Over here." Jack Crawford's voice called to him from the doorway of the safe house and he walked up to his former teacher.

"You promised. You gave me your word," Will told him, a statement made not out of anger but out of exhaustion.

"I know and I'm sorry but you're the only one who can . . ." Jack Crawford trailed off as Will walked into the room. Crawford motioned everyone else out while he stood by the door frame.

Will sat down in the chair previously occupied by one Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter. He ran his fingers  
over the arm rests, absorbing their feel. He blinked once and Crawford vanished. He blinked again  
and time moved backards; back past his entrance and Crawford's discovery. He blinked and the   
three rookie agents were still alive. Time slowed to a stop and then played.

"I'm reading -- a third-rate novel which is more entertaining than my keepers. They ignore me, too  
intent on discussing who gets to do what to notice me casually slip my key out of my mouth. I   
rise when the odious Krendler tells me to. All the while I envision what I'm going to do to him.

I am free now. I subdue the weak Krendler easily and kill the other one without a thought. I use  
the dead man's knife and make a first cut. He feels what he thinks is the worst pain imaginable.  
He doesn't know what pain is. Before the night is through, he will. But first, I have unfinshed business  
to take care of. Pearsall is back and Krendler is conscious enough to scream. I decide to rectify this  
and easily slice through his voicebox.

Calmly, and always in control, I walk to the door and stand beside it. I am loathe to use the same method twice, finding it tedious. When he enters, I opt to slice open his femoral artery. He bleeds out as I resume my work on Krendler. Knowing I have an hour before they realize I am missing, I take my time with him. I take my time because I can."

"Will? Will?" Jack Crawford shook him harder then he meant to, but fear had gripped him with a passion. Will turned to him, in his own time returning to himself.

"It's changed. Everything's changed somehow," Will mused with a faroff look in his eyes.

"They found the car Will. It was in full operating condition, but he left it. Lecter abandoned the   
car." Crawford told Graham who was running his fingers across the blood-stained third-rate  
novel.

"He's changed them Jack," Will repeated as Crawford felt the fear well up inside him.

"Changed what Will?"

"The rules of the game. Lecter changed the rules of the game."


	5. Chapter 5

As Jack Crawford drove to the site of the abandoned car, he glanced over at his passenger frequently. Will Graham had not spoken a word beyond what he had told Crawford earlier. When Crawford had asked Graham about the comment, Will had shut down on him, refusing to say another word about the subject.

"We're here," Crawford stated the obvious as he pulled up behind the car. Graham was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, walking quickly toward the leftover vehicle.

The first thing Will Graham took notice of was that the car was parked at the perfect intersection. The road straight ahead went to Virginia. The road to the right took the traveler to Pennsylvania while the one at the left went toward Washington D.C. Graham turned back to the car, noting first that the radio light was on. Who knows how many conversations about the chase Dr. Lecter had heard before he deserted the car.

"All that's missing is Pearsall's FBI badge and his hunting knife. Lecter left the gun," Crawford spoke and Graham heard the noise from a distance. He was already within Lecter's comfort zone.

"Lecter wouldn't have brought the gun, too much of a blunt little tool for him to be able to enjoy his work," Graham explained the situation to Crawford as though he were a six-year-old.

"Maybe you shouldn't be here Will," Crawford suggested realizing for the first time that Will's presence on the case was exactly what Lecter wanted.

"Too late Jack. It was too late the day you found me in Florida," Graham said dismissively as he sat in the car inhaling Lecter's scent.

"But what if that's where Lecter's headed? What if he's going after Molly," Crawford found himself horrified by the concept, but Graham was nonchalant.

"He's not, just letting me know he could if he wanted to," Graham said honestly, but calmer than he should have been considering what he just spoke of.

"Then where is he headed?" Crawford asked as Will produced Pearsall's black book. Graham flipped it open to the folded address page containing Crawford's name.

"To see an old friend," Will said as he held the book up for Jack's inspection. Jack gasped as he saw his home address staring back at him.

"Bella . . ." Jack clutched the book in both hands as Will took note of the commotion starting to occur behind Crawford.

"Come on, America deserves to know the truth. Will, hey Will. Help me out-you owe me pal," Freddy Lounds informed him, the arrogance shining through his little speech.

"Are you daft Lounds? Back off!" Crawford warned, but it was too late. Will was already walking over to Lounds.

"Freddy Lounds, you are the most obnoxious, foul smelling, unspeakably rude creature I have ever had the displeasure of knowing," Graham informed Lounds in a voice that Crawford knew too well.

"Will, don't," Crawford called to Graham, but his protege was too far gone to hear him.

"I gotta make a living, Will," Lounds said with a cheesy grin and a shrug of the shoulders.

"You are truly a greedy, useless piece of scum. Lecter wouldn't waste his time on you," Will informed Lounds as alarm bells went off in Crawford's head.

"Good thing too, Will. Huh," Lounds noted tracing the path of Lecter's knife across Graham's abdomen.

"I'm not Lecter, Freddy." Graham said with a little smile. Before anyone knew what happened, Lounds was shot dead and Graham was holding the smoking gun.

Will turned the gun on himself as Crawford ran up to him.

"Will no!!" Crawford shouted as Graham pulled back the hammer.

"You're on your own Jacky boy," Will said in a voice not his own and Crawford watched helplessly as his last hope for finding Lecter vanished.

"Will? Will?" Jack Crawford hesitantly walked up to Graham who had a ghostly smile on his face. Crawford took the gun from Will, realizing that Graham was gone, slipped into his own little world. Jack looked from Freddy Lounds' dead form to Will and his body shook with rage. Lecter may as well have killed Graham himself, God damn him!!

<><><><><><><><><><>

Once again the car was silent as Clarice parked it in the lot. The silence had long since ceased being uncomfortable. In fact, Clarice welcomed it after the rather odd session of Quid Pro Quo she had shared with her traveling companion. Both occupants exited the car, spiltting by silent, mutual agreement so they could relieve themselves.

Having fulfilled that requirement, Clarice stood in line at the coffee shop in the rest stop, shrugging off some rather lewd stares from a most obnoxious man standing by the door. She prayed he would get the picture and stay away, but he decided to approach. Just her luck that another asshole would be interested in her.

"Hey baby, what's up?" the man, who appeared to have a fashion sense stuck in the seventies, asked her.

"Go hit on someone else please," Clarice asked, attempting to be polite and the jerk faked being hurt before leaning in close to her.

"Don't be like that darlin. You look like you could use a good lay from the looks of the guy you came in with," the whelp said, and Clarice winced, not in the mood to deal with the bastard.

"Rest assured that I satisfy the lady in every way," the smooth, silk voice purred causing her to whirl around, as the boy did, to find herself staring at the mysterious Hunter Shepherd.

"Hey man, you can't blame me for trying right. I mean, look at her," the boy said, having no clue how close he was coming to dying on the cold tile floor.

"Now you're being discourteous, and I find that unspeakably ugly," Dr. Lecter informed the whelp who had the nerve to roll his eyes at him. Dr. Lecter's right arm shot out lightning fast and twisted the boy's fingers to their breaking point, forcing the boy to yelp. "Apologize to the lady please."

"Sorry. Jeez, I'm sorry mister," the boy whimpered. Satisfied, Dr. Lecter released him.

"Now run along, before I make a meal out of you." Dr. Lecter suggested with a smile that had the young mutt scampering for the door and Clarice suppressing a grin.

"Thanks . . . I think." Clarice offerred, noting an almost maroon tint to her companion's eyes.

"Perhaps I could relieve you of driving duty for a few hours," Dr. Lecter suggested and Clarice nodded, handing him the car keys. "I'll start the car for us."

Without another word, Dr. Lecter turned and walked out of the odious-smelling cafe. He walked calmly to the car, noting the familiar footsteps that fell into place behind him. The boy wanted to play, did he? Pity the pathetic whelp had no clue who he was dealing with, it would have made the game more interesting. Dr. Lecter pretended to fiddle with the lock on a Ford pickup, a safe distance away from Clarice's Pinto.

"Hey asshole . . ." came the command from the vocabularly challenged thing. Dr. Lecter turned, slahsing the boy's throat with the gracefulness of a cat.

"The name is Hannibal Lecter," Dr. Lecter whispered into the boy's ear as he lay dying. ONe more slash to the shocked boy's throat and he was dead. Pity he did not have time or he would have made good on his threat, Dr. Lecter mused.

As it was, Dr. Lecter left the body propped against the wall and moved over to Clarice Starling's car. He drove up to the cafe door just as his companion was exiting with two cups of coffee. Ever the polite host, Dr. Lecter opened the door for Clarice. She got into the car and handed him his cup.

"I thought you could use the pick-me-up as well," Clarice offerred with a smile. Dr. Lecter noded in gratitude, placing the cup carefully in his left hand, ever careful to keep the extra digit out of view.

As Dr. Lecter drove them back out onto the interstate on the way to Virginia, Clarice began to ponder the mystery that was Hunter Shepherd. She did this as she sipped her strong cup of black coffee. Hunter Shepherd was from Baltimore. Sip. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had been incarcerated in Baltimore. Hunter Shepherd had thretened to make a meal out of a man. Sip. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had made a meal out of many men. Hunter Shepherd had not shown her his left hand. Sip. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had the rarest form of polydactylity on his left hand. Hunter Shepherd had maroon eyes. Sip. Dr. Hannibal Lecter had maroon eyes. Sip. Hunter Shepherd was Dr. Hannibal Lecter


	6. Chapter 6

Her head was spinning. That was Clarice's first conscience thought that she willingly acknowledged. She took a deep breath as she looked down at her still steaming cup of coffee. Clarice took a brief internal survey of herself to see if she had given the revelation away to her companion. To her own eyes, she was sure she hadn't, but to his? She couldn't say. Instead of dwelling on the thought, Clarice focused on the evidence that suggested her companion was in fact Dr. Hannibal "the Cannibal" Lecter.

Both Shepherd and Lecter were from Baltimore. Both had maroon eyes. Those were provable facts. Less obvious were the polydactylity and cannibalism. She had not, as yet, seen Shepherd's left hand. As for the cannibalism, he had not killed anyone . . . yet. Plus, Shepherd had shown her his badge; his badge but not his identification. He clearly knew a lot about serial killers and yet refused to discuss anything about Hannibal Lecter.

Clarice allowed her synapses to take over from there, watching herself from a distance as all the pieces fell into place. She only had his word that either the car or radio were broken in the first place. If Hunter Shepherd wasn't Hannibal Lecter, he was a twin or at the very least a doppelganger. In the end, she decided to work under the assumption that Lecter and Shepherd were one and the same. Acknowledging that fact, what next?

Dr. Lecter had control of her vehicle and though she had a weapon, she had never fired it at another human being. Further, she didn't doubt that Dr. Lecter was armed. She knew without hesitation that his favorite weapon was a knife. Clarice wondered if she could get a shot off fast enough to beat his knife. If she did kill him, how quickly could she grasp the wheel? If she only wounded him, was she prepared for a battle? Could she kill another human being, regardless of how he had spent his life?

"Have you decided?" Dr. Lecter asked, stunning Clarice by breaking through her reveree with his voice.

"Decided what?" Clarice asked honestly, her train of thought shaken from its course.

"Whether you're going to kill me . . . Clarice," Dr. Lecter asked softly and she sucked in a breath. He knew she knew.

"Dr. Lecter?" Clarice asked hesitantly as she turned to face him, not sure whether she wanted to know. As she watched, Dr. Lecter ripped off the wig with his left hand, his six-fingered left hand.

"Good morning Clarice," Dr. Lecter said in a velvety purr she had heard only once that morning. The tone caused Clarice to shudder, though she wasn't sure it was out of fear.

"No . . . Dr. Lecter, I haven't decided," Clarice told him the only thought that her voice could muster.

"You should consider ALL the possibilities, Clarice," Dr. Lecter explained as though the two were having an everyday conversation.

"What exactly ARE my options, doctor?" Clarice asked partly curious as to what the man would say.

"You could try to kill me. You'd fail of course, but it would, no doubt, be a valiant effort," Dr. Lecter explained the situation as he saw it and Clarice narrowed her eyes.

"I can hit a target 80 yeards away with 90% accuracy," she told him noticing that rather than being angry with her, he was amused.

"I don't doubt that. Of course, a cardboard cutout is different from a flesh and bone man. Particularly one so . . . shall we say, lively." Dr. Lecter offered with a smile that got a half-smile out of Clarice as well.

"Say I rule out shooting you, not that I have. What's left?" Clarice asked more calmly than she should have, but choosing to ignore it for the time being.

"You could dive out of a car going 65 miles per hour. Assuming you survive, you'd be safe from the evil monster," Dr. Lecter said with lingering sarcasm on the last word of the sentence.

"And leave my car with you? Any other . . . suggestions," Clarice asked, her arms folding over her waist to safegaurd her weapon.

"Let me go where I want to go," Dr. Lecter suggested, and Clarice shook her head, an automatic response.

"I can't just let you go Dr. Lecter," Clarice said incredulously, giving Dr. Lecter a brief glimpse at her courage.

"Most people would avoid saying such things to me," Dr. Lecter told her in a voice that was partly a warning and partly something else. For a brief moment, Clarice thought it might have been admiration, but she dismissed the idea as absurd.

"I'm not most people, Dr. Lecter." Clarice told him softly, getting a chuckle from her companion.

"You are far from common, Clarice," Dr. Lecter told her. Clarice suspected it was an actual compliment he was paying her, but she couldn't be sure.

"Where . . . where would you go?" Clarice asked, reassuring herself that she was not planning on letting him go. She was merely waiting until the two were out of the moving car.

"To see an . . . old friend," Dr. Lecter said with such menace that Clarice felt her first true trace of fear . . . for whoever had gained the doctor's disdain.

<><><><><><><><><>

Jack Crawford stared after the van that was carrying his protege to the Psych Ward of the Baltimore hospital. How ironic that Will could, quite possibly, end up in the same hospital that had held the incarcerated Hannibal Lecter. His rage was directed at the man who had escaped not 3 hours ago. He blamed Lecter, Dolarhyde, Lounds and anyone else he could so he wouldn't have to point the blame at himself.

"Sir . . ." It was the hesitatant voice of a rookie agent named Brigham.

"What is it?" Jack snapped more harshly than he should have, but he had a job to do.

"There's been a murder -- Fell cafe, a few hours from here," Brigham explained making Jack feel as though he had been punched in the gut.

"Let's move," Crawford said, racing to his car as Brigham moved to reassemble the team.

Crawford started the car and drove off in the direction of the diner where the murder had taken place. He knew the place, it was the way to Virginia and Bella. Crawford said a silent prayer for his wife as he drove hoping that Lecter's newest victim would be able to give him the means to destroy him.

Crawford pulled into the diner noticing the flashing lights of other police cars. Automatically, he turned to where Graham would normally be, but found only an empty chair. He was alone against Hannibal Lecter. For the first time in his career, Jack Crawford was absolutely terrified. As he got out of the car, he vowed to do whatever it took to bring Lecter down, for Will's sake. At least, that's what he told himself.

"What do you have?" Crawford asked flashing the local PD his FBI badge.

"Poor stiff made the mistake of hitting on some guy's girlfriend," the officer explained and Crawford cringed, fearing he was wrong.

"Any witnesses to the argument?" Crawford asked hoping for any sign that he hadn't just wasted valuble time for nothing.

"Yeah, he told us that the guy hit on this girl. Her boyfriend showed up, didn't take it too kindly and said something about him finding it discourteous . . ." the officer explained and Crawford felt his chest tighten. It was him, Lecter.

"You get the girl's name?" Crawford asked, believing for the first time that night that they might have a break.

"Nah, but we did get a partial license plate off survelience -- 12L2 and we've got the witness who can ID her if you've got a picture," the officer told him and Crawford nodded, walking off as he dialed his cell-phone.

It's Crawford. I need you to run a license for me, partial is 12L2. I want names and photos uplinked." Crawford ordered before hanging up and moving to where Brigham stood.

"We got the survelience video so we know what he looks like now," Brigham said, handing a printout to Crawford who looked from Lecter to the woman beside him.

"We find her, we find him," Jack told Brigham as his gaze locked onto the auburn-haired mystery lady standing beside Lecter. "You and me sport. You and me."


	7. Chapter 7

As the first light of the new day began to rise over the plains, Jack Crawford sat in the office of Fell cafe's manager, but it was the last place he wanted to be. His team was still sorting through photographs of people with license plates ending in 12L2. He wanted to be home with Bella, protecting her instead of having armed policemen doing the job for him. It didn't comfort him in the least that they were there, knowing full well if Lecter wanted to go after Bella, he wouldn't let a couple of policemen get in his way.

Roadblocks had been set up at a variety of locations close to Quantico as well in hopes that they'd get lucky and trap Lecter in one of them. Crawford knew the likelihood of that happening was slim. Lecter was too smart to let a mere roadblock stop him. Crawford ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He felt time running out and didn't know how to stop it. Crawford forced himself to acknowledge the truth. He couldn't do what Will did, didn't even know where to begin.

Graham had the gift, the ability to figure out how to find people like Lecter. That was part of the reason Crawford had relied on him as heavily as he did. What Will had couldn't be taught by anyone. It was pure instinct. It was Graham's curse to have the best instincts where serial murder was concerned. It was part of the reason Crawford had used him in the first place. Used? Crawford shivered at the sound the word made when he tried its taste on his tongue. Something about the word made Crawford feel . . . third-rate.

Cheap would have been my choice, Jack. The velvet purr in the voice was unmistakably Lecter.

Jack Crawford shook his head violently. He wasn't going to let Lecter inside his head. He wasn't going to make the same mistake Graham made. Even as the thought came to his head, he knew it wasn't possible for him to do. What made Graham so good was why Crawford could never be in his league. Graham let the monsters so far in his head that he began to think like them. Then, he caught them. And then, he spent the next six years trying to figure out how to get them out of his head.

When he finally manages to do that. I call him back into the game, Jack thought wryly. Suddenly, Jack Crawford wished he was anywhere but in this cafe staring at photographs of Lecter's victims, waiting to hear if the good doctor had claimed yet another victim. He wondered absentmindedly if he could click his heels three times, say "there's no place like home", and find himself back at Quantico.

The thought brought a bitter smile to his face which he shrugged off. A knock on the door brought Crawford's attention away from Oz and back to the task at hand. Brigham was standing in the doorframe holding a sheet of peper and grinning like the Cheshire cat. Brigham certainly was an eager fellow. He was also very good at his job, but wasn't the type of agent Jack could use at Behaviorial Sciences. There's that word again, Jack.

"We got a hit, Mr. Crawford," Brigham said excitedly as he walked into the room and put the paper down on the desk.

"Clarice M. Starling," Crawford read the name as something in his mind clicked. He put the name and face together as his brain serached for where he knew her from. Then, it hit him. UVA.

"Something wrong Mr. Crawford," Brigham asked as he recalled the seminar he had given there two semesters ago.

"I know her."

<><><><><><><><><><><>

Silence had engulfed the Pinto's two passengers once more as they both considered their newfound detente. Clarice Starling knew that she would try to stop whatever Dr. Lecter had planned for his "old friend". But, Dr. Lecter knew that she would not abide by their truce for very long. He was also certain that her desire to "save" his potential victim stemmed from something more than just her rather severe sense of right and wrong. It filled him with a desire to know what had started her patterned behavior.

"Why did you run from the ranch Clarice?" he spoke softly, an attempt on his part not to startle her again. She seemed to be a rather high-strung creature.

"Why do you care?" her reply was not what he anticipated forcing him to evaluate her statement to see if there was any sarcasm to it. He found none in her tone nor in the way she was now watching him. He did however detect the hint of suspicion. She was unsure of his motives.

"You . . . intrigue me," Dr. Lecter offerred her an answer he knew would be considered ambiguous at best, but he did not wish for her to become too comfortable in his presence.

"The way a mouse intrigues a cat?" Clarice asked dubiously, getting a smile from Dr. Lecter who found he quite enjoyed being in the company of one so unpredictable. Clarice, however, didn't seem to find the comment as humorous, actually having the audacity to glare at him.

"If you have something you wish to ask me, please do," Dr. Lecter said, adding a hint of menace to his voice. He could see the battle she was fighting internally. It was written on her face. A part of her wished to back down, ever mindful of the company she kept. It would seem though that she remembered the gun tucked rather neatly in her waistbend for she chose to ignore the warning.

"Fine. Are you planning on eating me doctor?" she asked bluntly evoking a sigh from her companion.

"Of my nine known victims, I have consumed parts of five of them. One I left on the peg board. One I left in the insane asylum. The pedophile I wouldn't have fed to my worst enemy. The flautist I fed to others. And as for Will? Will, I left on the hospital floor. I have killed for many different reasons. I have killed in many different ways. And yet, without fail, the one way that gets remembered the most is cannibalism."

"Is that a 'no' then?" Clarice asked without a beat when he had finished the lecture. In response, she got a brief glimpse of a smile before it vanished behind his resolve. The jerk of her car's movement caught her off-gaurd and she looked over at him in surprise.

"We're here," Dr. Lecter offered unbuckling his seatbelt. Before she could utter a word, he was out of the car and had taken the keys with him.

Groaning her frustration aloud, Clarice unbuckled her seatbelt, managing to get it off with a minimum of fuss. She got out of the car quickly, only to discover that the elusive doctor had vanished. She looked around, but futilely. Dr. Lecter had vanished. A small part of her screamed at herself to get in the car, hotwire it and get the hell out of there. But, she knew she couldn't leave. If she did an innocent would die.

Clarice's hand went to her gun which she slowly removed as she glanced towards the small one-story house that appearred within the thick woods. She knew without a doubt that if she could barely see into the house, then they could barely see out. Which meant they had no clue what they were up against. Clarice took several steps toward the trees, not knowing as yet how to approach this, but knowing she had to try.

She got no more than a few steps before finding herself pulled against a rock-hard object. She felt one hand go immediately to her gun as the other went to her throat. As shocked as she was, there was no way in hell she was going to give up her gun. She fought like hell until she felt the unmistakable cool metal of a knife against her throat. She froze, waiting for him to say what he wished to say.

"You're going to have to let it go, Clarice," Dr. Lecter whispered in her ear, his voice only a soft purr.


	8. Chapter 8

He remembered her, it had been hard to forget her. She had been one of the few who had stayed awake for the 8AM class. She had also grilled him mercilessly on Hoover's civil rights record. Starling had seemed so damn earnest and eager to learn about the F.B.I. And now she was in the hands of the F.B.I.'s most wanted man. It was a baptism by fire, if she survived Hannibal Lecter, they'd either give her a medal or crucify her.

"Mr. Crawford, sir?" the hesitant voice of John Brigham broke through the clutter in Crawford's mind. Images of Lecter defiling Starling in unimaginable ways dissipated slowly.

"I want the Pinto found ASAP," Crawford barked, essentially dismissing the agent from his view. A restless Brigham complied fleeing from the room as quickly as he possibly could.

Crawford leaned back in the chair behind the wooden desk, wondering what he could have possibly missed. Taking into account mileage and time allowances, Lecter should have been at his destination by now, but Crawford hadn't gotten any word from the agents watching Bella that there was anything suspicious going on. He closed his eyes, attempting to visualize how he drew the conclusion that his house was the target of Lecter's wrath, but all he could see was Will killing Lounds.

Frustration arose in Crawford as he considered how all of this was turning out. He growled in anger at his loss of control regarding Lecter, his nails digging into the side of the wooden desk. How could something that came so easy to Will be so hard for him? He wondered not for the first time if he was losing his edge. He took a minute to compose himself, but as he did the phone in the office rang. He picked it up instinctively.

"Crawford here," he said, but heard only silence from the other end for several seconds.

"Mr. Crawford. Dr. Doemling from the Baltimore hospital here. I'm filling in for Dr. Chilton while he's on vacation. I have a patient here that wishes to speak with you," Doemling spoke in such a way that Crawford could tell he wasn't pleased. He probably hoped the patient would tell him instead of Crawford himself.

"Who's the patient," Crawford asked the question even though he knew deep down that there was only one patient who'd be calling him.

"Will Graham," Doemling spoke the name Crawford had been thinking and he ackowledged his wish to speak with his protege. There was a rustling in the background and then Crawford heard heavy breathing on the other end.

"Will? Will, it's Jack," he spoke into the phone feeling rather foolish for having to identify himself to Will. After all, Graham had called him and not the other way around.

"What happens when you assume, Jack?" the voice spoke softly and had a familiarity to it that unnerved Crawford. He couldn't place why it sent a shiver down his spine.

"You make an ASS out of U and ME. What does it mean Will?" Crawford asked, hearing the urgency in his voice and kowing Will sensed it as well.

"You assumed Jack. You assumed." Will left him only with that cryptic thought as Crawford heard the soft click of the phone going down on its receiver.

He assumed? Crawford couldn't recall where he had made an assumption. He focused on that one thought and went through everything he had done since finding out that Lecter had escaped. He had allowed Will to take the lead in the investigation. Will had done it all. That is . . . until the car. The vision flashed in his mind even as he tried to stop it. He saw the two of them looking in the car. He saw the notebook, open to the letter "C". "C" for Crawford. "C" for Chilton.

"Dr. Chilton."

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You're going to have to let it go. The words seemed to take root in her mind. They grew, taking on a life all their own until all she could hear was the echo of the words in her mind. Let go? How could he expect her to let go when she was so close to what she needed? She couldn't give in to the demand even if she wanted to. It was the only way for her.

"I can't," her voice sounded weak to her ears, almost as if she were apologizing. She wondered if he saw it that way as well.

"Can't or won't?" It was a simple question to answer but Dr. Lecter knew she wouldn't see it that way. For Clarice, relinquishing her weapon seemed to be perceived as a death sentence. The question was for whom?

"Won't," the word was hissed with a fire Clarice found by thinking of her mother. Her mother, in the kitchen washing the blood out of her father's hat, wanting to cry but refusing to allow her children to see it.

"I won't hurt you," soft words from the violent serial killer gave Clarice pause. She caught his maroon eyes watching her reaction to the words. She had already betrayed it to him, the truth. She believed him. She knew he wouldn't kill her.

The sad smile that appeared on Clarice's lips gave Dr. Lecter pause. He had only meant the words because he wished to ease her troubled mind. If he were honest with himself he had to admit that he quite liked being in the position he now found himself in. But not with just anyone. With HER. She had a quality in her that made him desire to know her. He wanted to know her thoughts, her moods, her very being.

"It's not me I'm worried about," the explanation was simple and Lecter could see the truth in it. She was willing to risk her life for someone whose name she didn't even know. Either she was very brave or very foolish. Dr. Lecter found himself hoping for the former rather than the latter.

He felt rather than saw the shift in her position. Her weight moved from one foot to the other, a sign of weariness. He didn't doubt she was tired. She had more than likely just come from an all-night shift when she encountered him. Under the circumstances she had held herself together admirably. But he had things to take care of and only so much time to take care of them in.

"Hmm, perhaps you had better get comfortable Clarice. It seems we're to be this way for some time. Not that I mind, of course," Lecter spoke the words even as his voice dropped to a more seductive level. A faint blush rose on her cheeks and he had to fight to resist the urge to smile.

He heard her audible growl of frustration as she relinqiushed her gun to him. In return the blade was removed from her throat and her sight. She turned in time to find Lecter tossing the bullets in the woods before handing the now useless weapon back to her. He inclined his head to watch as she took the weapon back. He could not meet her eyes however because they wee directed at the place where her bullets now lay.

The bullets were so close to her, but she knew she would not be able to reach them. Lecter's victim was as good as dead. She felt the tears springing to her eyes and shut them tightly to keep them from falling. She would just have to find another way to stop him is all. Her resolve shaky but intact, she turned to Hannibal Lecter, waiting for his next move.

She was strong, he mused as he watched the myraid of emotions crossing her face. She was so steadfast in her determination to save his intended victim, he almost chose to save her the trouble and tell her the truth. he had no intention of commiting murder in front of her or even nearby her-especially at this stage of the game. To do such a thing in the beginning stages would be quite rude of him and that was one thing he was not.

"Shall we," Dr. Lecter nodded to the house in the distance and the two began the task of walking over to it.

As they neared the structure, Clarice could see clearly that the house was deserted. The lights were off and no car was in the driveway. She briefly wondered if he would wait for the owner to return, but realized that he could probably wait for years to get whomever he desired. After all, he had been in prison for close to six years. As they moved to the door, her downcast eyes caught sight of a corner of an envelope sticking out of the bottom of the door. Reading the name, she knew Dr. Lecter's next victim would be Fredrick Chilton.

"What has Mr. Chilton done to deserve your ire?" Clarice asked as they moved into the small rather tackily decorated house. Dr. Lecter absorbed every nuance of the layout in several blinks.

"He was my former keeper at the asylum," Dr. Lecter answered the question, watching her roving eyes taking in the variety of heavy objects at her disposal.

"Did he . . ." Clarice started as her question's beginning got a sharp glance from Dr. Lecter. She opted to close her mouth instead.

"You answer my questions little Starling and I'll answer yours," Dr. Lecter spoke, the challenge evident in his gaze. When she remained silent, he knew he wasn't going to get the answers he sought that way.

Lecter nudged her into the living room where his gaze caught the pad of paper by the phone. The phone number listed had an area code he recognized as being in the Bahamas. He memorized the number, now knowing where his prey had run off to. Knowing Chilton, he had probably made reservations right after finding out about Lecter's escape.

A tilt of his head observed her staring at the trash can with some intensity. From her vantage point, she could probably see the hotel brochures in them. The wheels were turning in her mind, he could see the synapses making connections quicker than her mind could absord them. And there. The connection was made. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Their eyes met, holding as she realized that he had whatever information he needed. The only thing left for him to do was take care of her.


	9. Chapter 9

They stood merely studying each other for what seemed like an eternity. He could sense the anxiety building in her despite his assurances earilier. He knew it wasn't fear of him that worried her but fear of what he might uncover. Something made her leave the ranch so many years ago and influenced her to this day. He doubted she had even discussed it with anyone much less what others deemed a "monster".

For her part, Clarice tried to stop the blood from rushing to her head every time the topic came up. She had hoped to avoid the topic, but it didn't seem possible in the wake of recent events. Her chest tightened making it difficult for her to breathe, making it labored at best. She absentmindedly thought she was having a heart attack as her vision started to blur. She reached her arm out to steady herself and found it clasped in Dr. Lecter's hand. Startled, she looked up to find him a mere few feet away from her.

He had diagnosed the panic attack as soon as he saw her labored breathing and shaking hands. He was by her side within a few moments, grasping her outstretched arm in his hand, his fingers wrapped around the thindering pulse. With some effort, he succeeded in getting his heartrate up to the level near hers. He then placed her palm over his heart and began to slowly reduce his heartrate. As he did, he felt the pulse on her wrist, listening as both their heartrates returned to normal.

"Better?" Dr. Lecter asked as he removed her palm from its place over his heart. She nodded her response as she looked down at their still entwined fingers.

"Thank you" she spoke her gratitude softly as she eased herself down onto the chair just off to her right. Dr. Lecter chose to sit himself down on the coffee table directly opposite her, his hand removing itself from her grasp.

"After your father's murder, you were orphaned. You went to live with your cousins in Montana . . ." Lecter's tone was almost intimate but contained a demanding quality about it.

"I ran away," she spoke in a way that told Lecter she wasn't trying to avoid the topic anymore, but instead opting to ease into it.

"You left at what time?" he asked maintaining the physical distance but still able to command her gaze to look at him.

"Early. It was still dark outside," Clarice said as Lecter watched her relive the moment of her startled wakening.

"Something woke you . . ." Dr. Lecter prompted as Clarice saw her younger self looking out the darkened window, straining to see outside.

"I heard a noise, like some sort of screaming in a child's voice." she spoke and could feel her heartrate begin to elevate yet again.

"What did you do, Clarice?" he asked finding it in himself to want to reach out and comfort her yet he did not know why.

"I went downstairs, outside. I crept up to the barn. I was terrified, but I had to look inside. I had to know." Clarice was now holding her wrist in her hand, one finger up against the pulsepoint which was beating frantically.

"What did you see, Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked, his eyes taking in the physical changes her body went through as it related the story.

"Lambs." the statement took Dr. Lecter's breath away and he had to pause to regain it.

"They were slaughtering the spring lambs?" he asked catching the flash of anger reflected in her eyes. It was gone in an instant and the pain returned.

"And they were screaming," she breathed the sentence out, giving it a raspy quality.

"And you ran?"

"I tried to let them go. I tried to free them, opened the gate to their pen, but they wouldn't run. They stood there and wouldn't leave," Dr. Lecter recognized the tone in her voice as partly the confusion of the night and partly an attempt to assuage her own guilt about it.

"They wouldn't, but you did."

"I took one lamb and I ran as fast as I could. I thought . . . if I could save just one . . . but he was so heavy. The sheriff's car found me a few miles away. The rancher was so angry he sent me to live at the Lutheran Orphanage in Bozeman. I never saw the ranch again."

"What became of your little lamb, Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked with emotion she recognized as compassion.

"They slaughtered him," the rage found its way into her voice as she spit the words out.

"You still wake up sometimes. You wake up in the darkness to the screaming of your lambs," Dr. Lecter pushed even though he knew what her answer would be before she said it.

"Yes." the simplicity and honesty in the word shook him more than he thought anything could anymore.

"What would it take, do you think? For them to stop?" he asked even as he asked himself whether he wanted to know the answer.

"I don't know. I don't know," she spoke the truth she knew as simply as she could, making no attempt to gloss it over. The pain etched within the statement almost made him look away. Almost.

"Thank you, Clarice," he said softly. She found it curious, feeling as though perhaps she should be the one thanking him instead of the other way around.

"Dr. Lecter . . ." she knew she wished to say something, anything, but the sirens in the distance shut her lips quickly. The look Dr. Lecter received from her could very well have been one of concern. he wasn't entirely sure.

"Close your eyes, Clarice," he asked politely and she stunned him by doing exactly as he asked, even as alarm beels were ringing in her head. For several seconds she heard nothing and thought perhaps he had used the time to exit gracefully.

It was just as the thought began to take hold that she felt them. His lips pressed lightly, almost tentatively to hers. She was only vaguely aware of her lips responding to his, parting slightly under the pressure. The touch was fleeting and gone in an instant. She heard the whispered goodbye and knew he was gone.

Her eyes stayed shut as she slowly processed the fact that she had let Hannibal Lecter kiss her. She opened her eyes to an empty room. The only thing missing from the room was a pad of paper that had been by the door. Clarice found her hands had gripped the chair unbearably tight and opted to extract them from the furniture.

Rising from the chair, she heard the sirens getting closer and closer to the house. She moved out of the living room and out the door, wondering if he had taken the opportunity to borrow her car. Once outside, her gaze was drawn to where her Pinto should be parked. She found it just barely, sitting where the two had left it some distance from the house. Looking down at the rail, she found her car keys. Easing herself down onto the first step, she pocketed the keys.   
Wearily, she leaned her head against the wooden railing as the police cars came into view. Her next conscious realization was of several officers all asking her questions at the same time. They all sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. She tuned them out, thinking instead to the Jack Daniel's she had waiting in her dorm room. The next thing she knew, the officers were replaced by a very important looking man in a cheep 3-piece suit. Gradually, she became aware of what he was saying.

"Jack Crawford . . . I had you at UVA. I gave you an A." Crawford was struggling to get the young woman to focus on him.

"A-. It was an A-."


	10. Chapter 10

Orion shines brightly over the small West Virginia town. Most of its inhabitants have long since gone to bed, their lights darkened to their liking. All but one. The light in this room shines as brightly now as it does during the daylight, even though there is no movement from within. It is a beacon, drawing us to it as a moth to a flame. But we are not the only ones.

Maroon eyes watch the room from underneath a tree just outside. They have been watching for some time, believing it to be enough. It is not. He needs more than just merely to glance at her from a distance. The hotel was not difficult for him to find-it fit the pattern hidden within her complex personality, that she would long for some familiar surroundings until the media frenzy died down.

He fingers the key, obtained with a minimum of difficulty from a greedy hotel clerk. He moves over to her room, his footsteps make not a sound. The key is slipped in and out of the lock as easily as a harpy into human flesh. His pink tongue slips out of his mouth as he calls to mind a particularly vivid image of the dearly departed Mr. Chilton. The smile is there and gone in an instant.

He slips into her room unnoticed and mindful of disturbing her slumber even as he takes the time to survey her surroundings. The hotel room was sparce, with nothing in the room to even indicate her occupation of it save her prone form laying on the bed. He noted with some amusement the multiple newspapers carelessly tossed in teh trash bin. The assortment contained everything from People to the National Tattler.

The magazines weren't the sole reason for his amusement though. It was the stack of newspaper clippings on top of the dresser that held his interest. His little Starling had been keeping close watch over his pursuit. His sight caught and held the clipping mentioning Chilton's disappearance along with an aside on his brutal practices at the asylum. Barney Jackson was quoted extensively in the piece.

He wondered how her extreme morality reacted to the news of Chilton's life and death. He wished to have been there to see the look on her face when she heard the news, if only to see whether she held herself responsible for the act. Dr. Lecter's thoughts moved away from the subject as soon as his eyes saw the acceptance letter from the FBI Academy at Quantico. It lay discarded, tilting over the edge of the dresser. His little protege had been given all she wished for, but would, no doubt find it to be bitter tasting. If it wasn't already.

He took a breath, the room smelled of her. he knew he had put it off long enough. Slowly, his maroon eyes turned and fell upon Clarice Starling, still fully clothed and lying on the bed in a deep sleep. Her body was still but for the occassional rice and fall of her chest. In her left hand, draped across her stomach, he found his own copperplate script staring back at him. It was the letter he had sent her from the Bamahas (after he had finished his business there and moved on, of course). He could easily envision her lips moving over his words.

Dear Clarice,

I have followed your present notoriety with some fascination even though "bride of dracula" does not quite do you justice. I expect, though, that the Tattler's opinion of you matters little at this juncture. You have more immediate concerns to face. Graduation agrees with you Clarice as did the lovely black suit you wore. It brought out the bright auburn in your hair.

I must confess my disappointment upon hearing of your appoointment to Quantico. The institution you deem your respite from the lambs will judge you even more harshly than you do yourself, Clarice. And I will not always be there to steer you away from mistakes. You will have to learn this lesson on your own, I fear.

Know this, though little Starling. I have no plans to call on you. My world is more interesting with you in it. Do try to entend me the same courtesy.

I see Orion watching over me now. Perhaps you see him too. Some of our stars are the same. Clarice.

Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

He did not doubt that his letter had been fluroscoped and analyzed ad nausium by the boys in the basement. He commended himself for his consideration in not asking about the kiss. It had intrigued him that she had chosen to omit that particular piece of information for the FBI. It would no doubt be a topic for one of their future discussions. For the moment he was content to watch her sleep peacefully.

He moved to the head of the bed, turning off the bedside light. Then he moved to her feet and slowly removed her still mildly cheap shoes, making a mental note to buy her a better pair as he slipped them onto the floor next to the bed. Next, he slipped around to the other side of the bed and pulled that edge of the comforter around her body. As he leaned over to tuck her in, he felt her body shift towards him, her lips centimeters from his own.

He could have resisted the chance had he truly wanted to, but he did not. His lips barely touched hers for a second before he pulled away. He may have heard a whimper, but could not be sure. His shadow left her face and he clicked the second lamp off. Then, Dr. Lecter turned and walked to the door. He graced her with a single backward glance, knowing they would see each other again. In the blink of an eye, he vanished into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who read this! It was quite fun to write it!


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